Yesterday was an amazing day.
Tomer and I purposely arrived in Dharamsala about a month earlier than was required to begin work on the girls' soccer program. We knew that for most of September and the first couple of weeks of October, the members of the Tibetan National Sports Association would be in South India for their annual men's soccer tournament. We planned to arrive in mid-September anyway so that we could settle in, relax and enjoy ourselves a bit after the summer's work. And we did. At one point I began to feel antsy (as I usually do when I don't have an active project), but easily distracted myself with a three-day meditation course, long afternoon visits with old friends and several bouts of severe diahrrea.
In fact, I've been enjoying myself so much in this vibrant community that I nearly forgot the reason that these Tibetans are living here in India. But the other night, late, during a long walk home from an outlying village with friends, I was brutally reminded. A good Tibetan friend, Tsering, a 26-year-old guy with great English and an infectious laugh, ran ahead a bit on the pot-holed road. As a few of us trailed behind, I noticed that Tsering was having some trouble walking, and kept tripping over himself. I knew he had a problem with his feet, but I just figured it was a simple injury or something. Then I was told that, no, it was not a simple injury. Tsering had walked across the Himalayas as a child. With his mother, he had risked his life to escape Chinese oppression, and during the long journey, he has succumbed to frost bite. Part of his feet had been amputated.
This reality hit me hard. Most of the time, the Tibetans in Dharamsala are so positive about life, never complaining, never playing the victim. I had known Tsering a while, and he had never even mentioned what had happened to him. I was reminded that every refugee has a story, most of which are incredibly scary and painful. My purpose for being here was on the forefront of my mind again. And just in time.
That morning I sent an email to Kalsang Dhondup, the head of the Tibetan National Sports Association and my main contact here, letting him know that I was here waiting for him and ready to get started once he returned. An hour later, he called. He had just arrived.
Tomer and I opted to hike the 5 km through the woods in order to reach the Tibetan Children's Village, home to 2000 Tibetan youth and the head offices of the Sports Association. As we climbed up the hill, through the pine forest, I couldn't help but notice a few butterflies in my stomach. I had been planning this program for over 1 year now. I had called upon my friends, family and everyone I knew to help. I was scared that I had somehow misinterpreted all the emails, imagined the need for a girls' soccer program and exaggerated my role in this community and in this project. We passed an area in which small stone huts are scattered up a steep slope - temporary homes of monks and nuns in retreat - and I felt my posture recover, my confidence renewed.
My fears were for nothing. The first meeting with Kalsang-La could not have gone better. The plan for the program had been communicated clearly. We were all on the same page. We were wanted. All the preparation during the past year had been worth the effort. We also met with the Education Minister of the Tibetan Children's Village. He, also, was incredibly welcoming and enthusiastic about our arrival. We all discussed some of the ins and outs, and decided that the first thing to get working on would be a one-week coaches training program for all adults interested in becoming Tibet's first girls' soccer coaches. The training will take place the last week of November, and we will be providing room and board plus a full schedule of activities for about 20 coaches for 5 days!
We walked back to down, practically skipping. We met an Austrian friend, Thomas, for tea at a cafe that overlooks an elementary school in town. Down below, on a concrete court, two 5-boy teams were playing an organized soccer game, complete with screaming mothers and pacing dads. The game ended, and a bunch of kids started kicking the ball around just for fun. Thomas and I looked at each other. Down we went!
For the next two hours, we organized a full scale, impromptu soccer practice for the kids. I found that I was able to communicate with them all clearly, that there was almost no language barrier. When we split up into teams to scrimmage, the boys didn't want to be on my team. It's alright though. I showed them! We won 5-0! All in the name of publicity!
Only one little girl was hanging around as we played. She was a bit too timid to join, but I asked her, "Would you like to play soccer? Would you like a girls' soccer team?" She smiled so wide. She said YES.
Tomer and I purposely arrived in Dharamsala about a month earlier than was required to begin work on the girls' soccer program. We knew that for most of September and the first couple of weeks of October, the members of the Tibetan National Sports Association would be in South India for their annual men's soccer tournament. We planned to arrive in mid-September anyway so that we could settle in, relax and enjoy ourselves a bit after the summer's work. And we did. At one point I began to feel antsy (as I usually do when I don't have an active project), but easily distracted myself with a three-day meditation course, long afternoon visits with old friends and several bouts of severe diahrrea.
In fact, I've been enjoying myself so much in this vibrant community that I nearly forgot the reason that these Tibetans are living here in India. But the other night, late, during a long walk home from an outlying village with friends, I was brutally reminded. A good Tibetan friend, Tsering, a 26-year-old guy with great English and an infectious laugh, ran ahead a bit on the pot-holed road. As a few of us trailed behind, I noticed that Tsering was having some trouble walking, and kept tripping over himself. I knew he had a problem with his feet, but I just figured it was a simple injury or something. Then I was told that, no, it was not a simple injury. Tsering had walked across the Himalayas as a child. With his mother, he had risked his life to escape Chinese oppression, and during the long journey, he has succumbed to frost bite. Part of his feet had been amputated.
This reality hit me hard. Most of the time, the Tibetans in Dharamsala are so positive about life, never complaining, never playing the victim. I had known Tsering a while, and he had never even mentioned what had happened to him. I was reminded that every refugee has a story, most of which are incredibly scary and painful. My purpose for being here was on the forefront of my mind again. And just in time.
That morning I sent an email to Kalsang Dhondup, the head of the Tibetan National Sports Association and my main contact here, letting him know that I was here waiting for him and ready to get started once he returned. An hour later, he called. He had just arrived.
Tomer and I opted to hike the 5 km through the woods in order to reach the Tibetan Children's Village, home to 2000 Tibetan youth and the head offices of the Sports Association. As we climbed up the hill, through the pine forest, I couldn't help but notice a few butterflies in my stomach. I had been planning this program for over 1 year now. I had called upon my friends, family and everyone I knew to help. I was scared that I had somehow misinterpreted all the emails, imagined the need for a girls' soccer program and exaggerated my role in this community and in this project. We passed an area in which small stone huts are scattered up a steep slope - temporary homes of monks and nuns in retreat - and I felt my posture recover, my confidence renewed.
My fears were for nothing. The first meeting with Kalsang-La could not have gone better. The plan for the program had been communicated clearly. We were all on the same page. We were wanted. All the preparation during the past year had been worth the effort. We also met with the Education Minister of the Tibetan Children's Village. He, also, was incredibly welcoming and enthusiastic about our arrival. We all discussed some of the ins and outs, and decided that the first thing to get working on would be a one-week coaches training program for all adults interested in becoming Tibet's first girls' soccer coaches. The training will take place the last week of November, and we will be providing room and board plus a full schedule of activities for about 20 coaches for 5 days!
We walked back to down, practically skipping. We met an Austrian friend, Thomas, for tea at a cafe that overlooks an elementary school in town. Down below, on a concrete court, two 5-boy teams were playing an organized soccer game, complete with screaming mothers and pacing dads. The game ended, and a bunch of kids started kicking the ball around just for fun. Thomas and I looked at each other. Down we went!
For the next two hours, we organized a full scale, impromptu soccer practice for the kids. I found that I was able to communicate with them all clearly, that there was almost no language barrier. When we split up into teams to scrimmage, the boys didn't want to be on my team. It's alright though. I showed them! We won 5-0! All in the name of publicity!
Only one little girl was hanging around as we played. She was a bit too timid to join, but I asked her, "Would you like to play soccer? Would you like a girls' soccer team?" She smiled so wide. She said YES.
amazing day indeed!
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